


Rainy Days

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, F/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest, Spitroasting, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Sansa gets into bed because it's cold and rainy. But then she gets bored.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme prompt: "Sansa masturbates and feels ashamed that she thinks about Jon, Robb, and Theon."
> 
> Er, I'm not entirely sure how old she is here, my best guess would be around 15/16? But really, you can mentally age her up to whatever you feel comfortable with.

It is pouring with rain, and it's the middle of the day so Sansa should be out of bed and doing things, but it is entirely too cold. She shivers and burrows further into her furs, rubbing her legs together to try and breed some warmth. She'll be summoned for dinner soon, she's sure of it, but that's something she can worry about later.

She sighs, staring across the room to her shelves. The problem is, she's not only cold, she's _bored_ , and she didn't think to fetch something to read before she crept between the sheets, and now she cannot possibly bring herself to get up and expose herself to the elements long enough to do so. She should just close her eyes and take a nap, but she's not even remotely tired.

Even if she was, there's no way she could sleep with all this noise – from the storm, and from downstairs. The boys are having to keep one another occupied, unable to go out and train or ride or hunt, and they're getting rambunctuous with each other, bickering over whatever it is they're doing instead. What are they doing, she wonders?

Sansa closes her eyes and resolves not to think about it. It never leads anywhere good when she thinks about Jon, Robb and Theon too much, at least all at the same time. She loves them, but–

She will not think about it. She will not.

A heat starts to pool between her legs and she crushes them together, hoping to quell it, but that only makes the pressure worse. She curses her body, demanding such sick and strange things of her constantly. She wants to just ignore it, to focus on the sound of rain hitting the castle walls, but she can't help hearing–

“Ha, I win again Snow!” Theon announces, overcompetitive as always, loud enough she can hear it from her chambers. Jon's response is a lot more subdued, she can only make out a vague mumble, but she can imagine the way he would sulk. “Oh, don't pout at me like that, Snow. Makes you look like a rentboy.”

Sansa gasps and bites her lip, just as Jon snarls “Shut up, Greyjoy.” Theon laughs.

“Really though, last person to look at me like that was begging me to let her suck on my cock. I notice patterns, that's all.”

Her breath goes shallow as she squeezes her eyes shut. It's all Theon's fault, really. Him and all his tales of depravity – he tries not to tell them where she can hear, or at least where her mother can see she can hear, but somehow she's never been able to entirely avoid them. It's not like she'd even _like_ to lie with Theon, no, he's nothing like the handsome prince she's imagined herself marrying, he's rough and crude and – he knows so much about it, he's done things to women Sansa still doesn't know how can even be possible, but she wouldn't like it if he did them to her, she wouldn't.

_Is that right, princess?_ she can hear him whispering in her ear and oh no, this is going badly. _You wouldn't like it if I kissed you? If I touched you? If I fucked you?_ She whimpers softly and finds her hand moving of its own accord, kneading herself with the heel of her hand through her velvet dress. _Tell me Lady Sansa, you don't want me to put my cock right into that precious virgin cunt of yours... or do you want me to put it somewhere else?_

She bites her lip to stay quiet, hand pushing hard against her centre, starting to ache with heat and wetness. She gives in. Sometimes she does this, she touches herself thinking about Theon Greyjoy, and she is not proud of it and she might struggle to meet his eye at dinner, but she ignores that and pulls up her skirts before she can think better of it – or worse, get distracted. After all, it's not like Theon is really her brother–

“Leave him alone, Theon,” she hears Robb say, chuckling.

Sansa gasps and closes her eyes again. _Think about Theon._ And she does, as she slides a hand inside her small clothes and traces a finger across her wet folds, she imagines Theon doing the same – laughing as she whimpers at being teased. She imagines him doing the same with his cock, taking it in hand and pressing it right against her – her – and letting her feel the heat of it. _Beg me for it,_ he tells her as he sucks bruises into her neck, _beg me to fuck you good and hard, beg me to fuck you like a–_

“Eh, Snow's not my type anyway,” Theon says, and Sansa swears she can hear him grinning. “I prefer redheads.”

She whimpers as she plunges a finger deep inside herself. _I am a redhead._ But then she hears Robb say “Ha, ha,” and the fantasy changes. Theon is standing in front of her, grinning as she goes short of breath, kneading at the front of her dress with the heel of her hand. Between them stands a man, shuddering as Theon toys with the laces of his breeches. Robb. But Sansa looks so much like Robb, and Theon's just using him to taunt her. Her eyes are on Theon (honest). _You want me to touch you, Stark?_ Theon nips at Robb's ear, and Robb just whimpers. _What about you, Snow?_

Theon's other hand is on Jon, and Sansa smothers a cry in her pillow as she plunges her finger deeper, rubbing at the nub with her thumb. She sees Jon groaning, then grabbing Theon's wrist to force it against him. _Fucking touch it already Greyjoy, or I'll bend you over and fuck you in every hole._ Sansa gasps, squirming against her hand. Jon doesn't look anything like her, but he's not her full brother after all, only a half-brother, a bastard, and she's been taught since she was a child how he was born of lust, by nature inclined to depravity, so of course she'd think of him when she – when she–

Suddenly Theon's on his knees, still chuckling as he gives Jon's cock a long, slow, teasing lick. Then Robb's. _Mm, tastes good,_ he moans, looking back and smirking. _Wanna try, Lady Stark?_

Sansa bites her lip and closes her eyes. No, she wouldn't, she'd never – they're her _brothers_ –

_More for me then_ , Theon says and then swallows Jon right to the back of his throat. _Where did he learn to do that?_ but of course, Theon knows how to do all sorts of filthy things Sansa doesn't. Theon moves and swallows Robb down instead, wrapping his hand around Jon's cock to stroke it, still wet with his saliva. Sansa mewls at the sight, proud, handsome Theon Greyjoy, in silk and velvet, on his knees with one cock in his mouth and another in his hand. It's not right, none of this is right, but surely it's also not right to let Theon do all the work and get no pleasure in return?

She sees herself sucking Theon as he sucks on Robb and Jon. She sees herself sucking Jon as Theon sucks Robb. She sees Robb sucking Theon. She sees herself sucking Robb. No, no she doesn't see that.

Sansa whines as she pushes a second finger into herself, twists them to spread herself wider. _Greedy slut_ , she hears Theon whisper in her ear, but she's staring into Robb's eyes. _Can't even choose who she wants to defile her, she wants all three of us._

She looks up and sees Jon. His hand is in her hair, just like her mother's, and she moans as he pulls her in for a kiss. She's always hesitant to kiss Jon, even like a sister would, even when she wants to – she's not sure what the proper level of intimacy for a highborn lady and her bastard brother is. This is clearly far beyond the line, but she can't pull away, Jon's mouth is so very talented. It would be talented somewhere else too. She feels hands cupping her breasts, rubbing her erect nipples – those must be Theon's. They're not Robb's. They're not.

(In reality, they are her own, or it is, as the other is still busy between her legs. But anyway.)

Jon moves down, kissing the red curls and wetness around her centre as Theon grinds his prick against her hip, rubbing against bare skin. _How's she taste, Snow?_ he asks.

_Sweet. Sharp._ Robb answers for Jon while he's still busy. _Like those lemoncakes she loves._

Sansa moans as she pinches a nipple and rubs her clit. Gods, she's so close. She finds her pinky finger wandering, reaching back beyond, teasing at her–

_You going to let me fuck your arse, Lady Stark?_ Theon asks. He smirks. _Your brothers did._ And she sees it, Jon and Robb both, falling to pieces on the end of Theon's cock. She sees Theon falling to pieces on Jon and Robb's cocks, one at a time and both together. She moans. _Perfect little lady, it's so degrading, but what are you going to do? You only have so many holes, and you can't wait to have all three of us._

Theon's right, she can't wait. She'd let Theon take her from behind, put his cock somewhere she shouldn't even let her husband have, and it would be painful and humiliating and she'd love it, she'd love it far more than any whore Theon'd ever known. She rubs that hole with her pinky hard, but she can't get through, the muscle is clenched too tight.

She can't wait. She'd serve Jon with her mouth, swallow her bastard brother's cock like a whore, she wouldn't even be getting any pleasure out of it – not physically, anyway – but she'd so want to please him, like a good sister, want to feel him pull on her hair and fuck her mouth, because he just can't hold back anymore, it'd make her gag but she wouldn't back down, she wouldn't dare stop sucking until he was done using her.

That would leave only the one hole left for Robb. She buries her fingers as deep as they will go, and whimpers as she imagines it, clenching tight around Robb's cock, she'd give her own brother her cunt and let him take her maidenhead, she'd be so tight with Theon fucking her arse at the same time, she'd moan around Jon's cock as Robb spilled inside her, she's moaning now as she trembles and starts to come, “ _Robb_...”

* * *

“Did you hear something?”

Robb blinks as Jon looks up at him. “No?”

Theon snorts. “Don't worry, Stark, he's just trying to distract you from how I'm kicking his arse at this game.”

“You are not,” says Jon. “Right now, I'm actually winning.”

“Firstly: who cares, I've won like the last five games,” says Theon. “Secondly: you are not!”

“Yes I am,” Jon says. “You just don't realise because you don't know the rules.”

“I know the rules! You don't know the rules!”

Robb groans. “Neither of you know the rules,” he says. “That's why I'm stuck here, adjudicating. Because I'm the only one who knows the fucking rules.”

Jon and Theon blink at each other, and stare over the cyvasse board.

“...So who is winning then?”

Robb shrugs. “You've both made like two moves because you were too busy arguing. You haven't taken any pieces yet. Both of you. Neither of you. You're both terrible at this game.”

Jon sighs and looks out the window. “This rain better clear up soon.”

* * *

Sansa sighs as she pulls her fingers out of herself, wiping them clean so she can try and smooth down her thoroughly mussed-up hair.

Well. Dinner tonight is going to be awkward. Again.


End file.
